
Clover 
® Blossoms 

PS 



Clover Blossoms 



'BY 

ALBERT MILTON BRUNER. 



Press of A. D. zMartin & CompaNjp>. 
Rock Island, III. 



Register of Cof 



\^0 



COPYRIGHT, 1899. BY A. M. BRUNER. 



To the merry group who sit before the 
open grate and watch for faces in the 
fire at **Catalpa Lodge," these verses 
are dedicated, with the word that's first 
and last in life. 






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CONTENTS. 

J* 

Page. 

Clover Blossoms, . . • 9 

Chums, ... - 10 



A Birthday, 



n 



II 
13 



Learning to Walk, . . .14 

Christmas Time, . . • ^5 

The Engineer, . • • i7 

'♦My Partner," ... 18 

Two Little Faces, . . • iQ 

Hattie's Wedding, - • 20 

There's a Face, . • .21 

Down in Old Mobile, . • 22 

Music of the Mills, . • .24 

The Tin Wedding, . • 26 

The Fast Mail, . • .28 

On the Mississippi, . • 29 

Carnations, . • • -31 



Clover Blossoms. 



Watch my pretty little girl, 

Toddling up the path; 
Apron filled with clover heads, 

Hear her ringing laugh! 

From their bed, still wet with dew, 
Gathered one by one. 

See her pluck them — white and red- 
Fast as she can run! 

Face, a blossom in itself, 

Eyes of azure hue. 
Flashing back a bright reply 

To the bending blue. 

Tender, dimpled, little hands, 

Tireless, busy feet, 
With a sunny smile she brings 

Clover blossoms sweet. 

Never fairer than her face. 
Clover blossoms sweet, 

Down life's walk a carpet weave 
For my darling's feet. 



10 



Chums. 



Grandma in the fading light 

Dreams of girlhood days and charms- 
While with face as picture bright, 

Loie nestles in her arms. 

Grandma's hair is white as milk, 

And her cheeks are pale and thin — 

Loie's curls are soft as silk. 

Rosy cheeks with dimples in. 

Grandma's chin it trembles so. 

When she tries to talk or sing — 

Loie's mouth as rose on snow, 

Voice like song-birds on the wing. 

Grandma smiles, and dreams, and sleeps, 
Outside gently falls the rain — 

Loie starts, and wakes and weeps. 
Grandma soothes to rest again. 

Grandma, with her withered lips. 

Kisses Loie while she sleeps- 
No one has such fmger tips. 

Nor such faithful vigil keeps. 

Morning, with its welcome light, 

Finds them sitting side by side— 

Loie's face as sunshine bright. 
Grandma smiling as a bride. 



11 



A Birthday. 

The little folks came in last night 

And stood beside my chair, 
Then boldly climbed upon my knees, 

And safely nestled there. 

" This is your birthday, don't you know? 

I ventured my surprise. 
They brought their little presents out; 

1 looked with wondering eyes. 

" We think you're just the nicest man 
That ever lived," they said, 

" And we intend to stay until 
It's time to go to bed." 

My thoughts ran swiftly back and forth, 
As shuttle through the loom; 

Old memories with dusk came in 
And filled the silent room. 

1 saw the farm gate open wide, 
The lowing herd pass through, 

The lilac bush and climbing rose, 
Drenched with the morning dew. 

The cornfield, rich with tasseled brown 

And cherry-colored silk, 
The shepherd dog, the flock of sheep 

With fleece as white as milk. 

The cabin home, with low-roofed porch 
And window on the side. 



12 



Where purple morning-glories trailed 
As robes of queenly bride. 

The locust grove, with odor sweet 

From silver blossoms white; 
The old crab orchard on the hill, 

Where birds sang on till night. 

My mother, in her rocking-chair, 

Beneath the morning sheen, 
And heard her sing "Sweet Fields Beyond 

Stand Dressed in Living Green." 

I started, for the fire burned low; 

The ashes, white and free, 
Were crumbling, and the little ones 

Were sleeping on my knee. 

The hour was late; the gifts they'd brought 

Had fallen to the floor; 
1 turned from scenes of yesterday 

Into the open door 

Of better years and nobler things 

Than ever I had seen, 
Content to look from faded past 

To " Hills of Living Green." 



13 

In. 



When, from the *' fire place " of the East, 
The crimson daylight spills 

On waning night, as finished feast. 
Across the glowing hills, 

Wee footsteps, light as thistle down. 
Fall in the silent room, 

And little white-robed forms peer round 
"Through the receding gloom. 

" Is you 'wake, mamma? We is here 

To visit you again;" 
And then another voice as near 

Says, " Papa, did it rain? 
Last night I had an awful dream; 

I've come to tell you how 
The time I gave that biggest scream, 

1 saw a great black cow." 

They quickly climb into our bed— 

This modern Jack and Jill— 
With flashing eye and nodding head. 

Followed by others still. 
They smile their joy and tell their grief. 

With quivering little chin. 
And, with a feeling of relief, 

We tuck them snugly in. 

As birds of passage in their flight, 
The years wing swiftly on, 



14 



And all too soon, with morning light, 
We'll long for faces gone; 

And yet, please God, some radiant day. 
Removed from strife and din 

Of earth, with glad content we'll say, 
The children all are in. 



Learning to Walk. 



The baby is learning to walk to-day. 

And we watch her busy feet 
As she moves along in a halting way 

With a face serenely sweet. 

She stops at such tiny little things — 

A rug or a paper ball — 
Like a new-fledged bird, with untrained wings, 

That can scarcely fly at all. 

And we give her an earnest, hearty cheer; 

She answers it with a smile. 
Then bravely crosses the threshold near 

As though it were quite a mile. 

And we gather her close in our arms, and say, 

** Dear little girl, well done. 
May the journey long, begun to-day. 

Lead home, at life's setting sun." 



15 

Christmas Time. 

I had just reached home on a Christmas eve, 
From a journey through blinding snow— 

With the train delayed by a broken rail— 
And a traveler's tale of woe. 

I had settled down in the rocking chair 
With my slippers, to rest at ease, 

When 1 heard swift footsteps in the hall, 
And the children were on my knees. 

*' We have found you out," they cried with glee, 
As I glanced at the mantel shelf, 

" And you never can fool us a single time, 
You're old Santa Claus yourself. 

" And now we'll tell you just what we want, 
And we hope you will like the news, 

A doll for Lois, already dressed, 

With stockings and button shoes. 

*' And Philip is wanting a nice sharp knife, 

And Andrew a Noah's ark, 
A magic lantern for Frank and Paul, 

With scenes that show in the dark. 

And baby Arthur and little James 

Must have some presents, too— 
A rattle-box and a cart and horse. 

With a set of blocks, will do. 



16 



" And mamma must have — well, never mind, 

She will fix that up, I guess; 
But 1 think she would like a set of furs, 

And a lovely new silk dress." 

1 closed my eyes in a dreamy way, 

And answered, "well, dears, we'll see, 

But 1 wonder now if old Santa Glaus 
Will bring something nice for me." 

And Philip a^nswered, with dancing eyes, 
And cheeks that glowed with red, 

'* He's brought you all of us children here, 
But you want us to go to bed." 

They scampered away and my heart beat fast, 
As they vanished from my sight. 

And I said, " In all this wide, wide world. 
There's no happier man to-night." 

Did they get the presents? Well, come and see 
For yourself, and hear them tell 

How they held a council with Santa Glaus 
At the chime of the Ghristmas bell. 



The Engineer. 

He grasps the lever and looks ahead, 

And the train steams slowly out 
Through the falling snow of the Christmas eve 

At the big conductor's shout. 

And he smiles content, and thunders past 

His home at the edge of town. 
And he throws a kiss to his little girl 

While the cinders and dust roll down. 

For his heart is brave, and tender, too. 
And there's naught so dear on earth 

As the little cot, with the "baby girl," 
And the mother who gave her birth. 

He smiles again, and his pulse beats fast 
In rhyme with the winsome sight, 

And he says, " I'll bet you a whole month's pay 
'Old Santa' shows up tonight." 

And I look next day as I pass their door 

On a scene of love and cheer; 
A little girl with a big wax doll 

On the knee of the engineer. 



18 



"My Partner/' 

A bundle of sunshine and tempest, 
A combine of laughter and tears; 

An inquisitive budget of wonder 

Is "my partner" of four happy years. 

On a shelf out of reach in the pantry 

Stands a long row of coveted pies; 
On a chair quite too short for the distance 
Stands "my partner" with uplifted eyes. 

When the stars twinkle brightly at even, 
On a pillow his little round head 

Snuggles safely, "my partner" is resting, 
And he always is "good when in bed." 

And while the years hie away quickly, 
I'm trusting old time in his flight 

Will set a high chair for "my partner" 

That pies may be reached "out of sight." 



"Two Little Faces." 

Two little faces, sweet nnd fair, 
Two little heads with shining hair; 
Under the tree with blossoms white, 
Singing and playing from morn till night. 

Little straw hats piled high with flowers, 
Faces uplifted through golden hours; 
Childish voices ring out with glee. 
Calling, "Mamma, do come and see!" 

Summer roses all dead and dry, 
Snowflakes falling from winter sky; 
One little face at the window sill, 
One little form in the church-yard, still. 

Daylight breaking and storm-cloud past. 
Eyes grown heavy shine bright at last; 
Two little forms standing hand in hand. 
Inside the gate of the "Morning Land." 



Hattic's Wedding. 



Down the road with steady swing, 
Sleigh bells going jingle jing; 
Up the lane beneath the trees, 
Swaying leafless in the breeze. 
To the farmhouse, all astir 
With a bustle, rush, and whir. 
Where the merry, laughing crowd, 
Sung her praises long and loud, 
Down to Hattie's wedding. 

Parson came, upon his nose 
Glasses perched with jaunty pose; 
Said: "You take her for your wife?'' 
Charlie answered, "with my life." 
Knot was tied with ease and grace, 
While upon the parson's face 
Glowed a kindly, tender smile. 
Guests a-beaming all the while, 
There at Hattie's wedding. 

Presents reckoned by the score. 
Dishes, spoons, and forks galore. 
Blankets warm, and feather bed, 
Linen marked with letters red; 
Stalwart bridegroom, manly true, 
Happy bride, as birds they flew 
Southward, from the snow and ice, 
Dodging shoes and shower of rice, 
After Hattie's wedding. 



In a cozy little cot, 
Close beside the meadow lot, 
They will settle down as snug 
As two kittens on a rug; 
Years will fly, but love will stay, 
Sweet and pure as on the day 
We all came with happy swing, 
Sleigh bells going jingle jing, 
Down to Hattie's wedding. 



There's a Face. 



There's a face with dimples and clear blue eyes, 
And a mouth like a rosebud fair; 

There's a step that's light as the flight of time, 
Or the snowflakes in the air. 

There's a voice that trill's like a mockingbird's, 
When the leaves break forth in spring. 

And the tones are sweet as an old-time harp. 
When the minstrel came to sing. 

There's a hand that holds with a steady clasp 

My own, down the walk of life; 
And there's never a storm can sweep apart 

Myself and my little wife. 



22 

"Down in Old Mobile." 

Quaint old town, with streets so narrow, 

Hidden from tlie sea, 
Where the vessels rest at anchor, 

Near the broad levee; 
Darkies singing, while the sailor, 

Sitting at his meal. 
Thinks of land beyond the harbor, 

Down in old Mobile. 

Butterflies in gorgeous colors 

Flit across the hedge; 
Sweet wild roses shed their blossoms 

At the water's edge 
Of the limped streams that ripple 

Where the shadows steal. 
Lengthening out into the gloaming, 

Down in old Mobile. 

Jessamine and honeysuckle. 

Oleander fair. 
Myrtle, olive, pine, and poplar. 

Moss in festoons rare, 
Swaying from the stately cedars, 

Till the song birds wheel r» 

Round about and seek the open, ^ 

Down in old Mobile. p 

Mighty oak and rich magnolia, 
Trailing vine in bloom. 



23 



China tree and scarlet carina 

Field and lawn illume; 
Oh, there's gladness in the sunshine 

Every heart can feel, 
Days seem hours, and hours but moments, 

Down in old Mobile. 



24 

Music of the Mills. 

With cadence sweet as tripping feet 

Across the room at morn, 
We hear the bell from factory tell, 

And catch the note of horn 
That's winding out as merry shout 

Across the distant hills, 
And joining in, with noisy din, 

The music of the mills. 

Where shadows creep and lillies sleep 

In quiet hiding place; 
Where whippoorwill, when all is still, 

Down by the old mill race, 
Sends mournful note from swelling throat. 

Till song the night air fills, 
Above the bird is faintly heard 

The music of the mills. 

From engine-room and mammoth loom, 

And warehouse near the track, 
is busy thrum and noisy hum, 

'Neath floating cloud of black; 
Sweet song of bread and children fed 

The sturdy workman thrills, 
While to the skies the sparks arise, 

With music of the mills. 

As vision grand, on every hand. 
From east to purple west. 



The waving grain on yielding plain 
Tells of a Nation blessed ; 

While shadows flee beyond the sea, 
Back from the granite hills, 

And sweet and clear to-day we hear 
The music of the mills. 

Tell out the song to waiting throng, 

As white-winged ships sail on 
To tropic strand and stranger land 

Of darkness scattered — gone ; 
Farewell to care, for everywhere 

The message stirs and thrills — 
Ring out the gloom with song of loom 

And music of the mills. 



The Tin Wedding. 



There's a racket in the kitchen and the dining room is 

bright 
With a wealth of pans and kettles shining in the morning 

light ; 
There's a crowd of busy people passing out and in the 

door, 
And a pile of paper parcels scattered on the parlor floor. 

There's a shout of childish laughter to the rattle of the tin, 

There are horns and whistles going to increase the noisy- 
din; 

And " relations " from the country in their wagons at the 
gate. 

And the dear old parents sitting by the glowing mantel 
grate. 

There are friends from out the city with their patent leather 

shoes, 
And a keen-eyed, shrewd reporter trying hard to get some 

news ; 
And there's such a joyous bustle, such a storm of jokes 

and fun. 
Like Thanksgiving day and Christmas time combining 

into one. 

And 1 catch my breath and wonder what on earth it all can 

mean, 
For the winter holidays are past, the grass is springing 

green ; 
And my mother from her rocking chair is smiling through 

her tears. 
As she keeps repeating to herself, "It cannot be ten years.'' 

And 1 glance between the folding doors and see my little 
wife. 



Who has bravely walked beside me down ten years of 

wedded life ; 
While upon my knees there clamber romping boys and 

baby girl, 
With a cry enthusiastic, till my head is in a whirl. 

And they boldly race and caper to promote the merry din, 
While from childhood's home of years ago the family 

gathers in ; 
Clust'ring round the old-time rocker, father, mother, girls, 

and boys. 
With the fragrance of the orchard, to the rattle of the toys. 

With their faces glowing bright and glad, although the 

silver hairs 
Are gleaming as the ripening grain, revealing age and 

cares ; 
And we gather at the table, and they kiss myself and wife, 
Till my tears are well nigh starting at the little " hoist" 

in life. 

For I'm sure though quite a giant in the world of strife 

and care, 
Appreciation makes one catch an inspiration rare ; 
If half way up the hill of life we halt and look around; 
We'll plow wider, deeper furrows in the world's unbroken 

ground. 

And we'll reap a richer harvest through the hurried flight 
of years. 

Though the seed be often watered with our swiftly fall- 
ing tears ; 

Blessed tie of recollection, never severed though we roam ; 

Blessed vision of the borderland across the hills — and home. 



The Fast Mail. 
.^ 

Swinging out into the silence 

Of the early autumn morn, 
With its powerful headlight glowing, 

Through the golden fields of corn ; 
Clanging bell, and rattling switches. 

In the early morning light, 
Thundering down the splendid highway, 

Speeds the *' fast mail " in its flight. 

Louder rolls the mighty thunder, 

Louder clangs the tireless bell, 
Wilder shrieks the warning whistle ; 

Each the startling story tell. 
Pouring out the canvas " pouches " 

On each platform, without fail, 
Like a hunted deer, still flying. 

Speeds the early morning mail. 

Through Aurora, past Mendota, 

Leaving Princeton far behind ; 
Galesburg lost to sight, and Monmouth 

Passed as howling ocean wind ; 
'* Burlington," the " honored city," 

Reached almost before 'tis light- 
Grand, triumphant march of progress, 

is the '• fast mail's " daily flight. 



On the Mississippi. 



Our boat glides swiftly down the stream, 
The moments fade as summer dream, 
While birds sing sweetly on the shore, 
And boatman dips the graceful oar. 

A cottage nestles 'neath the hill, 
Whence loudly calls the whippoorwill, 
Till floating back in sad refrain. 
The echo answers oncejagain. 

An island home with fisher boat, 
In which the children gaily float. 
While mother croons a lullaby 
O'er baby 'neath the evening sky. 

The hardy raftsman thinks of home, 
And dear ones whom he left to roam ; 
The pilot scans with anxious eye 
The raft, the channel, and the sky. 

On deck the children plead for tale 
Of fairyland or magic sail. 
On unknown sea, or beast of prey, 
in some dark wood or lonely way. 

The captain tells of thrilling days 
Upon the water, and the ways 
Of boating, thirty years ago ; 
His face with memories all aglow. 

The cook and waiter, clad in white, 
Make cloudy faces glad and bright, 



30 



With kindly words and faithful hand, 
Till guests forget the joy of land. 

Down by the river's rushing side 
The engineer looks o'er the tide, 
While patiently he moves about ; 
His heart responds to boatman's shout. 

We count the days, we sing a song 
Of joy, and calmly glide along. 
Till one glad eve, at twilight gloam, 
We round the curve and rest at home. 

Just so we ride on stream of time. 
We smile and weep, and hear the chime 
Of evening bells, and catch the gleam 
Of snowy robes beyond the stream. 

And when the shore-line greets our view. 
With clouds and chilling winds passed through, 
We'll rest where vision splendid thrills— 
By the eternal sun-crowned hills. 



31 

Carnations. 



( When President McKinley alighted from his special train at 
Washington he handed to the engineer the bunch of white carna- 
tions he carried in his hand.) 

The train rolled in with its precious load 

To the Nation's honored place, 
On the gleaming steel of the burnished road, 

As a charger from the race. 

A shout arose that was long and loud ; 

Our leader returned the cheer 
With smiling face to the waiting crowd, 

Then turned to the engineer, 

Who had held the lever with iron grip 

In the cloud of smoke and dust, 
Through the anxious hours of that flying trip. 

Still true to his cherished trust. 

And, pressing into the toil-grimed hand 

Carnations, sweet and white, 
He honored, as hero of our land, 

A workman, the world's true knight. 

And in years to come, as we read with pride 

Of that pageant, grand and gay, 
We will think of the flowers and finished ride, 

With inauguration day. 



riZ 16 ^900 



